


Proximity

by adrenalin211



Category: 24
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrenalin211/pseuds/adrenalin211
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack can feel his pulse hammer against his cell phone, a twisting nervousness forming in his stomach and, <i>holy hell,</i> blood rushing to where he feels her voice most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> This was rush-written for [The Porn Battle XI](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/472424.html?page=1#comments ) with ten minutes to spare! Any of the following [prompts ](http://battle.oxoniensis.org/battle11prompts.html) apply: spontaneous, hands, fast, frantic, boxers! Thanks so much to leigh57 for running through this to make it happen and to paladin24 for inspiring this idea.

“I miss you,” she says when they’re about to hang up. Jack can tell by the sound of her breathing that she’s stopped whatever it was she was doing to tell him that.

“I’ll be home in a few days,” he says, unable to help how the smile on his face makes his words come out different. “I miss you, too.”

“You know,” she starts. He hears the heat kick on in his hotel room and listens to the formation of her thoughts. “Last night I couldn’t sleep, so before bed I imagined you were here.”

“You did?”

“I did.” She pauses before adding, “And I imagined what I’d do to you if… you _were._ ”

Jack swallows, his heart rate accelerating with the subtle change in her voice. “Yeah?” he manages.

“Yeah,” she says and Jack feels the denim of his jeans beginning to constrict. “Do you want me to tell you?” she whispers.

He clears his throat. “Are you serious?”

She laughs a little bit, her voice alive in the receiver, and says, “I’m serious. If you can return the favor when I’m done.”

Jack can feel his pulse hammer against his cell phone, a twisting nervousness forming in his stomach and, _holy hell,_ blood rushing to where he feels her voice most. “I can try,” he stammers, desperate for her to say something. Anything.

“Unzip your pants,” she says, quietly. “Please.”

“Renee, I--” Jack frantically rests the phone against his shoulder to follow her instructions when a knock on his hotel door jostles him out of the moment. _Fuck._ “Hold that thought,” he says, his voice low and staggering. “I ordered room service just--” He’s walking to the door, rearranging himself and fumbling for his wallet. “Please. Hold that thought.”

“Okay,” she says, the lowness in her voice comparable to when… _oh god_ he’s got to get rid of this guy.

When he opens the door Renee’s standing there with his room service cart, wearing his favorite jeans and that black shirt that leaves little to the imagination. Before he can put the pieces together, her hands are reaching for his zipper herself, his palms are running up her shoulders and into her hair, and she’s whispering things like _Why don’t you show me_ and _You’re already hard_ in between kisses.

Then he’s trying to push in the cart and lock the door behind them, secure, and she’s urging him towards the bed, lowering her tongue against his neck. She’s on top, moving her jean-clad hips against the cotton of his boxers and he’s too frenzied to think of anything else, like the way his hands lock around her waist and how he could come like this if he’s not careful.

(Like how despite the way this intoxicating blend of love and arousal announces her physical proximity like fireworks, his mind has never actually left her this whole trip.)

“What do you want me to do to you?” she hums into his ear, throatily, pushing against him.

Jack groans, low and strained, trying to control the pacing of his breaths. He’s pulling off her shirt in response and she’s standing to remove her pants, dragging his boxers down once she’s naked. She leans forward, her tongue’s attention moving to the area she’s uncovered, her lips closing around him, tongue doing that swirling thing for just a moment and, _“Christ, Renee,”_ he says, stammering, his breathing already heavy and fast and ready. He’s pulsing against her mouth.

She stops, looks up at him, and smiles. “I can’t wait any longer,” she mumbles against him and she resumes her spot on top, this time pushing into him without the inhibition of fabric, wasting no time.

He could just watch her, hum in her mouth, eyes drawn shut, freckles less prominent against the blush of her face and the red of her lips. He can feel her arousal through the ease of their glide. She tips her head back and allows him deeper. They find their rhythm like experts in each other, closing in on something beyond them.

“I’m… _oh fuck_ ” she says. And he is too, clutching her thighs as her fingers tighten against his shoulders. She moves steadily against him until her exhales soften.

When he catches his breath she’s leaning forward, chest against his, whispering, “I didn’t have money to tip room service,” before kissing him.

Jack chuckles against her lips, fingers running up her back. “I’ll take care of it.”


End file.
